


The Waiting House

by DeviWan



Category: Naruto
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Reality, Chibi, ChibiGaara, ChibiNaruto, Cuteness of epic proportion, Domestic, Family, M/M, Ninja, TeenKakashi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 16:32:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeviWan/pseuds/DeviWan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Itachi's life had been difficult and he shouldn't have expected things to be different just because he was dead. He'd woken up 13 years into the past in a house in Konoha, and apparently -according to the thousands of whispers of long dead people- he wasn't moving on until he found happiness. Fate couldn't have given a more difficult task.<br/>Staring Gaara and Naruto as Itachi's adoptive children, and a younger Kakashi as Itachi's personal stalker. Kaka/Ita</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Waiting House

**Author's Note:**

> Work is unbeta-ed, all mistakes are sadly mine.

Uchiha Itachi died happy, with a beautiful smile on his face, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way. So when he opened his eyes, and here he knew he shouldn’t even have eyes to open in the first place, he was confused. He remembered dying, sure he did, and he had been so eager to end it all, so eager to rest at last. He remembered his heart beat slowing, peaceful, and then he woke up to this. He was on a couch, a nice, light brown couch. It’s soft and new and comfortable. He wasn’t lying down on it, but sitting, his hands folded on his lap. He was alone too, the house was empty. 

The house was not on Earth, he decided, because here he had a purpose. To wait. He knew he wasn’t in heaven, nor was he in hell, not yet. Here he’s to wait, and wait he did. He didn’t know how he knew; the knowledge had been placed in him eons ago. Or maybe the knowledge of what he had to do came with death. There was a line, he concluded. Even though he was alone in the house, he knew… felt that there were others waiting too. They were all waiting for their turn. He felt the others, dead just like him. They were close, very close, but they were not with him. He didn’t care. 

Eventually the couch became too swallowing, and he felt himself sinking too deep into it. It was time. He got up; slow and graceful, and realised he could see. He could see everything with definite lines, no more blurry figures that made his skin crawl, no mysteries beyond his sight. He noted this turn of event with a very detached curiosity. Still, he didn’t dwell too long on his newly restored sight though. They were waiting for him. He walked to the stairs, and even though he told himself not to dwell on things too much, he did. He was a ninja; it was in his nature to analyse and calculate. And so he didn’t miss the television in front of the low table, in front of the couch. He didn’t miss the kitchen on the other side of the house, in sight of the living room. The floor of the house was wooden, very nice, and the walls a light cream colour. The stairs was like the spine of the house, in the centre. On the right side were the living room, which he’d been sitting in, and behind it an empty room. On the left side was the kitchen, a restroom room and the laundry room. There was a massive backyard outside, he noted with a sense of detachment. 

The stairs had fifteen steps. Each step he took, his body became lighter, lighter until he could barely feel the steps under his bare feet. And here’s where he realised he was naked. He should be embarrassed, if not a little affected. But he was not. His heart beats a constant rhythm, never faltering, never sending anything out. But despite this he knew he was truly, utterly dead. He couldn’t feel his face, couldn’t feel his arms and legs. He knew he was in his body, and it was walking up the steps, but he didn’t think he was controlling it. He was dead… 13, 14, 15 and he froze at the top of the stairs. He didn’t look right, didn’t look left. He didn’t look anywhere but out the large full length window that allowed him the sight of the backyard. The window was so clear, so fragile he would doubt if it was truly there; only he didn’t doubt. He didn’t do anything. 

He waited again. He could see a few roofs in the distant, and guessed they must be other houses. None of them were close enough to see his naked form. He thought perhaps those other houses hosted souls like him, waiting for something to happen. He also thought that he couldn’t care less. He waited; his body not alive enough to feel the strain of standing for too long. He couldn’t feel. When the sky became an interesting mixture of colours, of orange and pink, but purple and blue too, the whispers flooded him. They started low and soft and gentle, and very few. Then they became louder, bigger in number, and more forceful. They went from sounding beautiful, to demanding and Itachi wondered if this was the voice of God. He didn’t think so. It sounded like an army marching, whispering loving words in harsh tones. Whispers; nothing more than whispers. 

The sky turned a pitch black all too soon, and Itachi was forced to look down at his body. He was glowing, it looked like. He didn’t remember being this pale, so pale that he glowed at night. But it wasn’t his body that was glowing. It was something else inside him. It looked like a firefly at his centre, and it glowed big and bright and the light shone out of his body. His soul, he concluded. That was him.

The whispers softened again, as if to make him more confortable listening to them. Itachi didn’t care; he was not afraid. They became in tune with each other, now whispering all at once, saying the same words at the same time, until they were speaking. Itachi couldn’t hear them, couldn’t hear the words. He felt them though, felt them humming in his bones and in his head. He felt the fluttering of the whispers at the base of his neck, the palms of his hands, along his legs. Words so powerful that they touched him.

He understood them. They’re asking him, what did he want? He wanted to rest, duh.

The whispers doubted that. What more could he want? Itachi didn’t care to answer, he was dead, what he wanted didn’t matter. The whispers insisted he answer anyway. He wanted to give, wanted to know. What did he want to know? The whispers’ fluttering became more excited, eager, but the house remained silent. Itachi doubted that the house was still behind him. It was too dark to tell. Answer, answer; they wanted to know. What did he want to give, to know? He tilted his head sideways, why was it that he could see the backward, but nothing else? Answer, answer, answer! He wanted to know! He wanted to know what it felt like, to give! The whispers got harsher, impatient, and Itachi felt something for the first time since he died. He felt a headache coming on. 

What did he want? 

He wanted to know what it felt like, to give someone else the world…

The whispers quietened, the numbers lessened, until there were no more than about twenty voices. They reached out, to touch him, along his arms, around his face. Itachi didn’t understand. Were they trying to be comforting? It was not working. He didn’t like strangers touching him, especially when said strangers were no more than whispers. Whispers of long dead people, he was sure. He wanted to know what it felt like, to make someone else so happy that his own heart soared. He wanted to know. The whispers got curious, still fluttering about his body. Sasuke? He wanted Sasuke to be happy? He did, but more. He couldn’t answer anymore, because at this point he was not quite sure if he could put what he wanted into words. Nobody has ever asked him. Never in Itachi’s life had he gotten the opportunity to say what he wanted. He wasn’t used to this.

The whispers did though; they knew what he wanted most deep down. 

The whispers grew louder, bigger in number again, and Itachi wanted to tell them to just go away. They were very irritating, if they were all going to come back and whisper some more, why did some of them leave in the first place? 

They were having a conversation among themselves, Itachi noted. Thousands and thousands and thousands of voices were whispering to each other, deciding his fate. They must have decided eventually, because in front of him the sun rose. It wasn’t the sun coming up that told Itachi they’d decided; it was the push at his soul, literally. The push went right through his body and pushed the firefly inside out. The next thing he knew he was flying back down the stairway, watching as his empty body stood at the top of the stairs. It was an out of body experience, he noted with detachment. 

The whispers tell him. This will not affect anything, will not change anything. He could do as he wished, be as he wished to be. It will not change. The world he left behind will still go on as it did. 

The whispers overlapped each other, and if Itachi was anything but dead, he would be overwhelmed to the point of insanity. But he was not, because he was dead. The world dimmed, faded around the edges, and he thought he’s died again. Eventually the world faded completely, and Itachi still couldn’t bring himself to care. The whispers felt pity for him. Itachi didn’t need pity, loathed it. 

~~

The next time Itachi woke, he started to doubt if he’ll ever get to rest in peace. Was it so hard to ask that he be left alone once he’s dead? He was feeling heavier too, so heavy. There were the bones, the blood, the muscles, and the skin tying him down. Then there’s the hair, even the little ones at the back of his neck. They were all so heavy now. Itachi never realised how much a body could tie the soul to Earth. The clothes he wore were heavy too, and Itachi wondered of the other souls would mind if he stripped. He didn’t think so. There were sounds around him; it was night, and what appeared to be a festival. He recognised this, the orange lanterns, the children in masks and yukata, and men dressed as the Yondaime Hokage. Perhaps he was in a memory from his childhood, one that he didn’t quite remember. 

He walked, slow and deliberately because he was so heavy. It almost felt like he was alive again… but Itachi shied away from that thought, because he was never that lucky. 

There was a crowd gathered in front of him, all circling what appeared to be a show. He wondered if those were souls too, all dead just like him. They laughed though, laughed and clapped and danced. Itachi couldn’t understand how they could be so lively… they were dead. He made his way through the crowd, wishing he had a mask too so he wouldn’t feel so exposed. The crowd parted for him, and some he felt stare at him. He didn’t care. When he was in front of the crowd, he watched the show. There was a man, if the broad shoulders and flat chest was any indication, and he wore an orange, demonic mask. On his head he wore long, orange fox ears and on his hands he wore fake claws. There was another man, his hair the wrong shade of blond, but blond nonetheless, and it was big and spiky looking and so familiar. He wore a white cloak over shinobi garbs. They acted. The man in the mask jumped back and forth, making growling sounds. It ended when the man in the cloak did something, and the man in the mask fell to the ground. A play…

Then the crowd busted into laughter and claps, so alive, and Itachi knew they were not souls… knew that he was not a soul anymore either. He was alive, just like everyone around him. The realisation did little to him; he still felt heavy, tied down and the clothes irritated his skin. One could never know how restricting clothes can be until they’ve experienced death and needed little else. 

There was a looming shadow behind him, and when he looked back, he immediately saw that there were only four heads on the Hokage Monument… just four. The first and second heads were still ancient looking, but the third and fourth looked newer than he remembered. 

He didn’t care how long he stood there, people walking past and staring too long at his face. Eventually though, eventually the heaviness became tolerable, and his chest blossomed in a heat so long forgotten. There were many things he could have done, so many things to choose to do now, but he chose the one that would hurt him the most. He turned and walked away from the crowd, walked further away from the lights of the festival and closer and closer to the district containing the Uchiha clan. 

When he was close enough, everything started working as it should. Chakra coursed through his body, and his head cleared more and more. The bored detachment that had accompanied him through death dispelled itself. And because his head was clear and functioning, he knew that he couldn’t just waltz into the Uchiha district. Already he was receiving way too many stares, and he wasn’t in the district yet. He could use a transformation jutsu, but that meant that he would be seen, and Itachi didn’t plan on being seen at all, so he had no need for transformation.

He was wearing a black shirt, and the usual ninja slacks. Good, he could easily hide in these. Stepping into the shadow of the nearest wall, he calmed his breathing –not much to do there, since he doubted his breathing’s been anything but calm (and here he noted that his breathing was no longer hindered by that dreadful disease he got from the Mangekyou Sharingan)- he slowed the flow of his chakra. It’s impossible to hide his chakra, can’t really hide what’s so obviously there. He can make it slow, though; make it flow so slow that no movement could be detected. 

When he entered the district, it was much emptier than he expected, and he finally remembered why. They must be out celebrating the part they played in the defeating of the Kyuubi. They have a lot of pride, and if Itachi hadn’t already killed them all once, he would be disgusted. Not now though, because now he was here for his own reason. He was here to finally be happy so he can finally move on and rest in peace. Because who knew that life could be so difficult even after death?

Sasuke was a little older than three, Itachi could tell that at first glance. He was being watched over by their aunty from three houses down. Everyone else was out celebrating, which Itachi found hard to believe. From what he could remember, the word celebrating seemed not an appropriate enough word. He remembered quietly drinking hot tea and standing at his father’s side on such occasions. That could hardly be called celebrating. Slipping past the aunty was no trouble, and he found his little toddler brother playing in his room, throwing plush toys about the room, then quickly going after it, only to do it all again. He didn’t dare go inside, only watched from outside the window. Sasuke was as he remembered, small and still chubby and all smiles… like a whole lifetime ago. 

He wouldn’t interfere, though. He only had one brother, and that was the sixteen year old he left behind when he died, the one that was everything he could ever want him to be. He was not going to change that, not that he could, because the whispers had told him already that nothing he did here was going to affect the original time line. In other words, this was a playground. 

In the end he could only stare at his brother for so long before the heaviness grew again and his heart did this terrible clenching, and his chest tightened, and breathing became too difficult. Sasuke looked happy, playing among all his toys, but he’s lonely, so horribly lonely and Itachi hurt for him because the toddler didn’t even realise yet that he was lonely. But before he knew it, several chakra signatures entered the house, and he sensed one fast approaching the toddler. The moment he saw himself, his eight year old self, –he’d just recently mastered the Sharingan here- he turned and ran. 

He had no intention of changing anything for Sasuke and himself.

Had Itachi been anyone else but the Uchiha Itachi, he would be frustrated, furious… lost. He had died, and had accepted it, and had been all too willing to just rest and end it all. But he was brought back here, alive and he had no idea what his purpose was. Well, he knew he was supposed to be happy so he could move on, but even he knew he wasn’t sure what to do. It’s so much easier to say, than to do. Be happy, oh yes, sure, but how?

But it didn’t matter. Like with every catastrophe that he had faced alone, it was only a matter of time before he figured it out. 

He didn’t miss it. Deep in thought as he was, Itachi did not miss the tiny little shadow hidden away in the ally. He turned towards it and started trailing. It wasn’t difficult walking away from the festival, especially when the people were only acknowledging the Kyuubi and the Fourth Hokage. Itachi didn’t doubt that they all remembered Naruto; of course they did, when he walked among them every day. Still, it wasn’t his place to tell them how stupid and idiotic they were all being by directing their hatred at the wrong person; wasn’t his place at all. In any case, it wasn’t difficult to find the blond child. He was huddled in a corner at the dead end of the ally, having cornered himself running away from Itachi. There weren’t any light, and if it wasn’t for his amazingly bright blond hair, Itachi might have missed him altogether. He was curled into a tiny ball, knees drawn up to his chest and arms holding them tightly. He was so still, as if he thought that Itachi would miss his existence if he stayed still for long enough.

And he got even smaller the closer the Uchiha approached. 

Itachi had always thought that he would be feisty and loud, just like he had been when Itachi came for him and the Kyuubi, just like when he was promising to bring Sasuke home. But then again, he was only three here.

Itachi decided to take the stranger’s approach. Naruto would only be more afraid if a stranger knew who he was. And he was right to be so. 

“Hey there,” he said. He tried to make his voice softer, gentler, but it mustn’t have worked because the child whimpered and drew further into himself. And Itachi knew how he sounded; has seen grown men cower just because he sighed. He tried again, “I won’t hurt you.” Still intimidating, he thought. Naruto wasn’t even peaking at him. He sighed quietly. “What are you doing here? Where are your parents?” It must have done something good, because the tiny ball that was the child loosened slightly and Itachi finally saw the rags he wore as clothes. “Are you lost?” He didn’t even try to smile. It’s been a long time since he’s done so, and he doubted Naruto would appreciate it. He knew he didn’t smile well, and the forced smiles only intimidate people more. 

An act of kindness he needed. He’d offer the child his coat, or cloak, only he didn’t have any on him but the shirt on his back. Instead he stood up and offered the boy his hand. “Come, I’ll take you back home. You can tell me which way to go.”

It took a while, of course it did, but Naruto finally stood up –oh, he only just reached above Itachi’s knees- and put his tiny hand in Itachi’s. Itachi wasn’t a big man, not at all, and he definitely hadn’t felt otherwise when he was partnered with Kisame, but currently he felt much bigger than he should. His hand, small thing that it was, swallowed the child’s completely. It was only a little strange, because the last time he saw the blond, he’d been nearly as tall as Itachi himself… and he was still only sixteen. He had no idea that Naruto had ever been this small as a child. Though, he reasoned, poor diet and lack of care would do that to a developing child. “Which way?”

And he let the child lead the way. He was silent, they both were, but he found it not quite right with the boy. This was Naruto before he became a ninja, before he had anybody. It’s unbearably wrong. Itachi made sure to remember the way to their destination, just in case, and although Naruto seemed to remember the way off by heart, Itachi noticed that it took them to unnecessary turns and distant. It was obvious the blond was avoiding the main populace, and Itachi wondered why he was even in that ally in the first place. When they arrived at the orphanage, none of them were surprised to find the lights off. “It’s bed time?” He asked Naruto gently. When he received a nod in return, he went on, “Do you want me to call someone out?” 

Naruto didn’t answer at first, but eventually shook his head. Itachi wished the night was lighter, just so he could see the child properly, because he had this suspicion and if proven correct, he doubted he’ll be able to refrain himself. He could be a murderer for the greater cause, but he would not be able to stand child abuse. “Where will you sleep?” He knew the child was tired, the gentle swaying told him so. Naruto took his hand out of Itachi’s and walked around the orphanage house, to the side. There, hidden from sight under bushes, was his occasional bed. It was really nothing more than a few blankets on the ground, and old, torn clothes for a pillow. Itachi had seen worse; he was once a missing nin, and often ran out of time to make a proper bedding when on the run. But it’s wrong to see it like this, in this scene, with this child. 

“You’re going to sleep here,” it wasn’t a question. The child nodded. “My name is… Itachi, what about you?” Blue eyes widened, even in the darkness it was obvious. Itachi understood why Naruto would be afraid. The name Uzumaki Naruto was the taboo name in the village, and Naruto himself seemed to realise that. People cringed when the name was mentioned, and Itachi knew Naruto was scared of that reaction from him. But Itachi needed Naruto to not be ashamed of his name, never. He was going to be great. “You can tell me. I will not hurt you.”

“Naruto,” it was a quiet whisper, and if Itachi had been any less of a shinobi he might have missed it. Only he caught it, and the tiny smile that followed was not in his control. He was sure it was a genuine smile, and it probably looked good. He only regretted that it was too dark for Naruto to see; he was sure he would’ve liked it. 

“Naruto,” he repeated the name softly, as to not scare the child. “I’ll be going now. Sleep well.” 

And if the bright blue eyes dimmed and saddened, Itachi bore it. There were things he had to do, after all. 

“I’ll see you again sometime,” he said. 

He knew what he had to do.

~~

There wasn’t even an instance when Itachi thought he could remain as Uchiha Itachi and be a citizen in Konoha. He backtracked a little, and found himself travelling to Suna. He needed to be a citizen in Konoha, but before that he needed to be a citizen of this world. It’s so much easier to get citizenship in Suna than in Konoha. Suna didn’t ask questions that Konoha would. He’s already got a simple, easy to remember story for himself. He was a nomad, travelling in a drifter clan called the Jihada. He’s finally decided to settle down, and had come to Suna for a home. After he gained citizenship he intended to travel back to Konoha and get citizenship there. Though he knew he had to stick around in Suna for a week or two, so that his excuse for travelling to Konoha would be ‘Suna is not the place for me.’ 

He’d met the Jihadas in his travels with Kisame in the past… or in the future in this case. They were simple people, didn’t really mind where they went as long as they stuck together. It wasn’t difficult to disguise himself as a Jihada; throw a simple green jacket with a hood on and he was set. They were the only clan that wore green in the desert. Getting to Suna wasn’t a problem either. He remembered that security only improved after the Ichibi’s host became Kazekage, so he wasn’t confronted by security on his travel. And it was easy to get what he wanted too, so easy that he was disappointed, but then again, the Itachi here was not yet an S-ranked missing nin wanted for the complete annihilation of his own clan. 

After he told the guards at the entrance what he wanted, and he was quick to do so because the staring continued even here, he was allowed to enter and a guide was assigned to lead him to the citizens’ officer. Why the guards bothered to especially assign him a guide was not beyond him. He knew he was attractive, but he was not used to people responding to his looks, not when he had Kisame’s massive form and his own bloody reputation constantly looming behind him. He wondered if the guards thought they were doing him a favour by this. 

When he signed the papers and officially became Tetsukawa Itachi, citizen of Sunagakure, he was given a room in an apartment after he assured the officers at the office that he would get a job. Before he left the office he saw the officers throw his paperwork into a shelf; and he silently scoffed. They were reckless, and if he were working for Akatsuki they’d pay for it. There was a moment, in which he stood alone in his new apartment room, which he wondered if becoming a member of Akatsuki again was an option. It was not. There was already an Itachi here for that; he needn’t get involved. His purpose here was… his purpose here was to do whatever it was that he wanted without thinking of the consequences. And he wanted to make someone happy, not because he thought he had a chance at redeeming himself, but because his whole life he’s brought other people only pain and hatred. The happiness he gave to Sasuke as a child was nothing after he what he did for the sake of the village. 

He thought he could do it for the Jinchuuriki of the Kyuubi. If there was anyone who deserved happiness, Itachi thought the blond did most of all. He remembered the brief but vital conversation with the boy before his confrontation with Sasuke. He wasn’t exactly experienced in the feeling, but if he really had to name it, it had to be faith. He had faith and goodness if he still remembered that that felt like, that Naruto would be the one to save his little brother from the darkness. Yes, he was sure of it now. He gave some of his powers to the Jinchuuriki, after all. And there was still the question of how he would go about it. What could he do here that would make the child so happy that even his own heart would skip and dance? 

He dropped silently onto his new bed, a small, brown thing. It was selfish, he knew. He was only going to make Naruto happy, give him a home and a better life because he needed to, for his own good. He needed to somehow make himself happy, so that he could move on… or at least go to rest, because Uchiha Itachi was not repeating another lifetime. He’d done enough in one to last another. 

There was a knock at the door, soft and almost timidly. When he opened the door, it was to a young girl, ten, twelve at most. His first instinct was to open the door wider so she could see Kisame and run off, and then he realised that his partner was not here, and he needn’t intimidate anyone. He was not on a mission. He opened the door wider anyway and relaxed his shoulders, because it was not nice to scare off potential neighbours by looking like he’s ready to pounce. The girl peaked at him from under her long brown fringe, and held the plate in her hands up higher. On the plate were pork buns. They looked good. 

“Hello,” the girl said, her voice was soft and wavering and Itachi finally understood that she was shy. “Umm… I saw that you were new, and I thought I’d welcome you. Umm, these are pork buns. My mother and I made them earlier this afternoon.” She held the plate higher even, and it trembled slightly with her hands. 

He took the plate from her hands. “Thank you. This will be my dinner tonight.” She smiled. “My name is Itachi.” He hoped he didn’t look too intimidating. He couldn’t even remember the last time he met someone new without death hanging in the air. “You are…?”

“I’m Imako, and welcome!” And before Itachi could say anything else, not that he was going to, she skipped down the hall and disappeared into a room four doors down from his. 

He stood at the door for a while, letting the experience sink in. His heart was still beating too loudly, and he realised he was still expecting an attack. Without a doubt, this was going to take getting used to. There wasn’t much else he could do that night, so he ate the pork buns and took a quick shower -Suna was freezing at night- and got to bed. It took him a while to actually fall asleep, but when he did, there was nothing that could have woken him up. There were no nightmares, he hasn’t had one since he woke up from the dead. He dreamed though, of simple little things, like that waterfall he and Kisame stopped by after a mission. Kisame swam around, going deep and coming up fast, like a child. He dreamed of little fields, meadows, or even just the sunset. 

And when he didn’t dream, when there was nothing he could see, he heard the whispers. He heard the whispering voices of thousands and thousands of dead people. They sounded pitying, and he hated that. 

~~

There was something tapping at his mind when he woke up five days after coming to Suna. And when he couldn’t figure out what it was exactly, he dispelled it from his mind altogether. 

He didn’t know many people, only Imako and her mother Cho, and the apartment manager Aki, but many people knew him. By now he’s gotten used to the stares and the smiles and all around niceness. People wanted to please him, everywhere he went, and he wondered if that had something to do with the fact that this was an alternate universe and nothing here was real. The first morning after he moved in, he’d gone looking for a job. He first looked for bookstores, because he would prefer to work at one than any other place, but none of the bookstores that he went to needed anyone, and by noon he was still jobless. The people that he went to told him of other places that needed more people, though, and one even said that the academy, not the ninja academy, needed a new teacher. The option was crossed out of his mind before the person even finished saying it. He was not going to be here long, a week or two at most. 

In the end he acquired a job in a sweet-house next to the playground, behind the academy. He didn’t mind too much, even though it involved talking to and working with strangers, because the house served lots and lots of sweets. He liked sweets, and occasionally he could bring them back home and give some to Imako. He thought that the smile on her little face was well worth it. 

And now on the fifth day of his stay in Suna, and the fourth day at work, he took his afternoon break. It was after four, and the children were going home from the academy. Those who didn’t stayed and played. He’s gotten used to this. There’s a stick of dango in each of his hands, one stick was nearly gone. On the first day he’d taken his break at the back of the shop, but then the owner had told him to sit in the front. Passer-byes took one look at him and walked into the shop. He didn’t know whether to feel pleased or used. He didn’t even smile often, talked even less, and so he wondered why people were so drawn to him. He was very sure he was still giving off an intimidating aura. The lack of Kisame’s demonic presence couldn’t have made that much of a difference could it? It could be that they sensed that he had no intention of harming them, that he’s different. Was he different? 

“Gaara-kun, would you like some sweets?”

There’s a sudden halt somewhere inside his head –he was left dizzy for a moment- and everything worked once again. Oh, so this was what he’d dismissed so easily this morning. He blinked once, deliberately, to moisten his eyes. Looking out the corners of his eyes, out the window to his right, he took in the tiny red-headed child. He’s the same age as Naruto, and Sasuke, but he was so much smaller. He was holding on to the hand of an effeminate looking man, blond and with a friendly smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, though it looked deceiving enough. Itachi didn’t fall for it, not when he was so experienced in the art. 

Gaara silently nodded his head, and the man looked into the shop. 

“It’s quite busy, so there’ll be a line. You don’t mind waiting, do you?” There’s a shake of a small head, and the man walked in. The Jinchuuriki stood awkwardly near the playground. 

Itachi could only watch as the adults who walked by left a large distance between them and him, as if the boy naturally repelled them all. The younger children could only look at him in confusion, while the older kids sneered. It’s a cruel world, he thought. He’d heard that the boy was a killer way before he was a ninja, but he could see now that it has yet to happen. He had a guardian, where Naruto didn’t, and so what was it that drove him mad? Gaara seemed so harmless, cute if Itachi dared say. And if he was honest to himself, he’d say that he wasn’t as cute as Sasuke; no one was as cute as Sasuke (he was biased, he knew.) The young boy shuffled his feet and shifted over to a bench, out of passer-by’s ways. Luckily the bench was empty, because if there was anybody on it, they’d hurry to get away, and that would only hurt the boy more. Itachi didn’t doubt the blond man’s decision in leaving him out there even for a second. He knew that if the child was to walk into the shop, he wouldn’t be served.

The little bell over the entrance chimed, the shop owner waved at him a little and Itachi knew his break was over. He quickly, with as much grace as possible, stuffed the last stick of dango down -he was not going to waste good dango- and got back to work. After going in the back and putting his apron on, he went on to clearing tables. The customers that were already seated stared at him, unblinking, and ate neatly, as if to do him a favour by leaving him with less to clean. Itachi couldn’t wait to go back to Konoha, where people were a little more subtle in their staring. At least back there, the people are used to seeing people with pale skin and dark hair walking around. They’re used the Uchiha looks. 

When he got off work that night, that’s half way to midnight, he was offered yet another box of spare sweets. He didn’t refuse, because if he did then the offer the next day would be even bigger. The shop owner, a sweet loving man with a rounded belly and an even rounder face, waved at him from the shop’s back door. His face was constantly set in a smile; always smiling, always waving. His wife was no different, only she had no problem jumping and hugging people. They were nice people, and he wondered if they’d still be nice in the face of their Jinchuuriki. 

He only walked for a little bit when he saw the red-headed child sitting on a swing. Itachi was not surprised; the boy’s face from earlier this evening said that he would come back. There were a few people watching him from the shadow of the buildings, only staring and glaring. They didn’t dare move to harm him, and Itachi thought it unfair. The people back at Konoha had no trouble harming Naruto, just as long as the Hokage remained in the dark about it. He paused in his walking, and silently watched the scene. He was positive that one of the people watching would act; fear kept them back, but hatred pushed them out. 

He was right. A man, short and shadowy, shifted and moved closer to the oblivious child. It wasn’t a secret amongst the Akatsuki that the Sandaime Kazekage sent assassins after his own child, in fear that his power got out of control. The only mystery had been when it had all started, but now he was answered. The Ichibi’s Jinchuuriki had dealt with assassins all his life; so Itachi couldn’t blame him for turning out so twisted and broken. 

The waiting assassin shifted again, not any closer, but getting ready. Uchiha was faster. Within moments he’d crossed the hard, sandy road and stepped onto the sandy playground. He didn’t bother asking himself what it was that he thought he was doing; obviously the child was not going to die today, he’s seen that for himself. And this wouldn’t make a difference, not when the Kazekage was going to keep sending assassins after Gaara. But then again, whatever he did here will never have an effect on the real time. Gaara was already the Kazekage, nothing will change that. Still, here was now, and he would not leave the child alone with an assassin. 

The boy had a good sense, Itachi thought when Gaara looked up at him. He was sure his steps had been silent. Unlike Naruto’s eyes had been when he approached, fear and dread, Gaara’s eyes showed only wariness and hope. Of course he wouldn’t be scared, not when the sand would protect him from anything harmful, but the hope… that took Itachi longer to understand. As he approached, and he made sure to keep his face from appearing too threatening, the child’s eyes positively lit up with hope. It was just as strange for Itachi. It’s been almost a decade since a child’s eyes lit up at the sight of him. 

When he finally stood in front of the boy, he blinked. The boy blinked too. It was suddenly very, very apparent that none of them were talkers. Finally Itachi said, “It’s dark. You shouldn’t be out here. Go home,” still feeling awkward, he added, “kid.” 

Gaara’s faded green eyes dimmed, but a shy smile made its way to his small face. The child was so hopeful, so eager to be anything but a monster that Itachi hurt for him. “But… I want to play,” he said. For a moment Itachi reeled, moved by the total and utter cuteness that Gaara exuded. The naïve hope in Gaara’s eyes… it was like seeing fireworks for the first time. 

Itachi blinked again, at a loss. He wondered where his experiences with Sasuke as a child had gone. He moved to sit on the swing next to the boy, but stopped when he doubted it could handle his weight. “It’s not safe. Go home; someone could be worried about you.”

Gaara looked down at his little feet, dangling over the sand. He’d never, never had anyone come up to him and tell him to go home. Well, not in such a nice way anyhow. The man looked nice, well… Gaara was sure he was a man anyway. The stranger had long hair, but Gaara’s seen men with long hair before, only they were really big and strong looking. This one was… not. He looked a little worried, and Gaara thought it was strange. Uncle Yashamaru was the only one that worried about him, plus he’s already asked if he could come out here and play. His uncle said yes, so it should be okay. “Uncle Yashamaru won’t worry,” he said. “He said I could play.”

“There’s no one to play with here. Why don’t you come back tomorrow?”

Gaara glared at the sand below his swing. He really wanted to stay here, there’s nothing to do back at home. Uncle Yashamaru was always busy with work; at least here he could play on the swing. He wanted this person to go away, but he also didn’t. This man wasn’t glaring at him, wasn’t saying words he couldn’t understand. Gaara wanted to talk to him, but not about going home. He whispered, “But I really want to play.”

Itachi stood silently for a while. To him, this conversation was going around in a circle. He had no idea that a child could be this stubborn. Sasuke had done whatever he said, when he was a child. But then again, Sasuke did have the tendency to worship him. He let out a calm breath, one that could be mistaken for a sigh. It wasn’t a sigh though, just a breath that said he wasn’t going home so easily tonight. He squatted down in front of the child, holding the box of sweets on his knees. The little boy eyed the box of sweets, and Itachi felt a quirk at the corner of his lips. “Do you know why there are no other children out at this time of the night?” There’s a shake of his little red head. “It’s because it’s dangerous. There are mean people, monsters even.” Teal green eyes widened, and Itachi wondered if this was the right thing to do. He was seriously messing with things here. But he’d rather to boy be scared of monsters that don’t exist, then let him find out for his own what kinds do. “Aren’t you afraid of the dark?”

Gaara looked around. He’s never thought about that before. He started to shake his head to answer the man, but then something moved, he thought it did, and he froze. 

“Sometimes there are monsters hiding in the dark, waiting for a child to be alone outside. That’s why there are no other kids here. So go home. You’ll be safe inside.” Itachi doubted that the words had the effect they should. When people say things like that, they used low, husky voices for effect. His voice was neither low nor husky, just a straight flat thing. Gaara moved to hop off the swing and he moved back to give him room. The boy looked around, unsure, and Itachi hoped for god’s sake that he hasn’t forgotten his way home. He continued to eye the surrounding darkness, where the street lamps didn’t reach, and Itachi finally understood why he hasn’t moved to walk home yet. He opened his mouth to talk, and knew straight away that he’s in way too deep. “Would you like me to walk with you?” 

Gaara nodded his head vigorously, and a smile made its way to his pale little face. Cute. Just like with Naruto, the red headed boy led the way with Itachi not far behind. The rational part of him thought it useless, what he was doing. Protecting the boy this one time would not change anything; he wasn’t going to be here to do that the next time the Kazekage sent an assassin after Gaara. And when he ordered himself to turn around and leave the boy where he stood, he found his limbs disobeying him. They walked until they arrived at a small, two storey house. Like all other houses, this one was made of hard, compacted sand stone. The windows showed only one room with the lights on. He looked back to Gaara and realised the boy was waiting for him to say something. “Go on,” he said. Holding the box out, he gave the boy a smile. He hoped it looked like a smile, and not a grimace. “Here, share them with someone special.” 

It took the boy a while, but he eventually, if not shyly, reached out and took the box in both hands. “Thank you,” he whispered, then turned, hopped up the steps and disappeared inside with one last glance at the surrounding shadows. Itachi steeled his heart. No matter how cute Gaara could be, Sasuke was still the cutest in all the land. He nodded and turned and walked away, an amusing thought fluttering around in his head. Cuteness was not classified as a weapon of mass destruction… but it clearly should be. 

~~

Itachi didn’t see Gaara again until the day he went to the shop to quit, which was the day before he travelled back to Konoha. The shop owner had practically broken down, grabbing for his legs to keep him from walking out. Eventually, with too much tears for a man his age, he let Itachi go. He’d only taken a few steps away from the shop when the child stepped out in front of him. Gaara had come to say thank you, and Itachi had ruffled his head. When Itachi told him that he had to go away though, that’s when things got interesting. 

“Gaara? You’re Gaara aren’t you?” Of course he knew his name was Gaara, but it’s less suspicious this way. “What are you doing here?”

The child fiddled shyly with the hem of his shirt, and Itachi almost winced. This child should never learn what deadly weapon he held in his hands (and Itachi was not talking about his sand.) There was a blush as red as his hair on Gaara’s face. “Umm, I wanna say thank you.” 

Itachi made to reply, but when he saw the shop owner watching them out of the shop window, he decided that that wasn’t the best place to talk. He led the boy to the playground, set him on the swing. “It was fine,” he said. “Just don’t be out at night like that again, even if you have permission to.”

“Ok,” they were both silent for a while, then he said, “Umm, who are you?”

“Itachi.”

“Oh.”

Itachi didn’t think it too wise to stay here and let the boy grow attached at him. He was needed somewhere else. “Gaara, I have to go now.” He wasn’t surprised that the boy wasn’t even surprised that he knew his name. The boy’s rimmed eyes widened, too wide for such a little face. Itachi had nothing else to say, so he got up, but could only take one step before he felt his left wrist being tugged back. Sand. The grains felt rough and dry around his wrist, and he was only aware of how easily covered it was. He slowly, gently pulled his wrist back, but the sand came with it, still gripping tight. “Gaara, I have to go.”

The red headed boy’s cheeks scrunched up, as well as his nose, there was a sniff and Itachi prepared himself. “Why?” Gaara cried. “We’re… friends, aren’t we? Don’t leave me.”

Itachi turned back to the crying boy, and once again squatted down. “Gaara I don’t live here. My home is in Konoha. I have to go back, there’s someone waiting for me.” Naruto wasn’t exactly waiting for him, per say, but… details, whatever.

The child sniffed, but the sand didn’t let go. “But I don’t want you to go. Stay, please?” His teal green eyes were so desperate, so panicked. Even Naruto had not been this desperate… well, he was, but he never showed it. While the young Naruto hid his desperation behind pranks and mischief, young Gaara wore his feelings on his sleeves. 

Itachi knew that at this point, if he really wanted to, he could just vanish into thin air and leave the boy. There was nothing that a ninja of his calibre couldn’t do, and escaping from a sand clutch of a three year old boy was next to nothing. If he were still working for the Akatsuki, he’d have no problem escaping a situation like this. He wasn’t in Akatsuki anymore, though. “I have to go home. You have to let me go. I’ll come back to visit.” And there it was. He’d thought that his weakness was Sasuke, only, but now he really started to think that his weakness extended to all children. He’d never had to harm or interact with children in his stay at Akatsuki, and so he’d never had to chance to find out. But here, now he felt so helpless, and though he didn’t show it, he felt that Gaara felt it too. 

He tugged his wrist a little, as a reminder, and the sand reluctantly fell off, grain by grain. “You’ll come back?” Itachi nodded. “Okay, promise?” Impressed by Gaara’s large vocabulary, Itachi nodded to the child again. “When?” 

Itachi’s lips tilted up a little bit. He didn’t think he’d get to go anytime soon. “Not for a while.” He thought of Naruto for a minute, at the orphanage without a hope of being adopted, and gave Gaara a little smile. “There’s a boy waiting for me at Konoha. He’s just like you.”

“Really? How?”

He hummed softly. “Well, his name is Naruto, and he’s your age. He doesn’t have many friends too, so I have to go back to him. He’s waiting.”

Gaara looked about to cry again. “Oh,” he mumbled. “But you’ll come back.”

“Yes, the problem will be would you still remember me, Gaara?” 

His teal green eyes widened and he sat straighter up on his swing. “I will!” In which Itachi humoured him with a raise of an eyebrow. 

“We’ll see.” 

Even after that, it took him nearly the whole day to get back to his apartment. When he left, Gaara had that look in his eyes, the one that told Itachi he wouldn’t be forgotten, the look that said he’ll be waiting. Itachi didn’t make empty promises; he had every intention of returning. He thought to bring Naruto too, see what would happen if the two boys were to meet. But things were never that simple, first he had to get back to Konoha and get a citizenship there. It was required in order for him to adopt, that was to say if the Sandaime would even allow a stranger to adopt the Kyuubi’s Jinchuuriki. He’d try nonetheless…

His journey out of the Wind country was slightly more interesting than his journey in, and he found it only so interesting that the current Kazekage worried more about people leaving than he did about people entering. He admitted to himself then that he really couldn’t wait for Gaara to become Kazekage. Uchiha Itachi could stand many things –death, pain, bad poetry- but bad leadership he could not. 

When he got back to Konoha, it took him two weeks before he could even go near the orphanage. Compared to Suna, Konoha’s thoroughness seemed ridiculous. The paper works were four times as much, security and background checks were suffocating and Itachi almost, almost punched the lady at the citizenship office in the neck for asking him too many questions… twice! He didn’t in the end, though, because he was sure that breaking a woman’s neck because he lost his temper wasn’t going to get him citizenship, not matter how satisfying it might have felt. Instead he offered her a small, tight smile and a polite nod when she handed him the final paperwork, finally. After that he hightailed out of there.

First thing he did was look for an apartment. He found two good ones, and was in the middle of contemplating which one was better, when he realised that if things went his way he’d be raising a child. And he wasn’t yet certain that raising a child in an apartment was a good idea. Konoha’s apartments weren’t exactly child-safe. And so, much to the displeasure of the two landlords, he abandoned the idea of an apartment altogether. He looked for a house. This was where issues arose. He didn’t have enough money for a house, and he couldn’t afford the time to get a job to save up some money, because if he remembered correctly, the first assassination attempt on Naruto happened sometime around now. 

Out of desperation he searched for the house he’d been in as a soul, the one with the couch and the television and a large backyard. It was a very westernised house, and he even doubted if it existed. After all, when he was in it he was but a ghost. 

Three days of uselessly searching, and unintentionally gaining the attention of the ANBU, he glared up into the sky and muttered quietly, “A house isn’t too much to ask. I’ve already died once; you could be a little nicer to me.” 

He found the house the next day, situated a little away from the main populace. It was in between the town and the farming area, meaning that it offered privacy. It was just as he remembered it being when he was last in there, dead. 

He first went into the kitchen, because if he was going to raise one Uzumaki Naruto, a kitchen was a must. In the living room he took the television outside and burnt it and buried it –again, unintentionally gaining the attention of the ANBU-. He replaced the television with a large bookshelf, capable of holding both books and scrolls. The laundry room did not need changing, or the bathroom next to it. The spare room, right behind the living room, was empty. It would most likely be a play room for Naruto –the child would be so spoiled and Itachi was excited to spoil him. Once he finished inspecting downstairs, he reluctantly took the stairs up. Interestingly he was relieved when he didn’t hear whispers or felt an out of body experience. 

The master bedroom was on the left of the stairs, almost taking up the whole left side of the house. It had its own bathroom. Then, on the right side of the house were two bedrooms and a toilet room. Looking at it, Itachi’s lips thinned. The house’s design was not one he was used to. All the Uchiha houses had been very traditional, old. This house was new, and a little bit strange. The bedrooms were bare, thankfully, and when he decorated it he would be getting a futon for himself and a bed for Naruto. 

Once he settled in, he sat on the couch with his hands folded on his lap; the position he’d been in when he woke up.

Tomorrow… tomorrow he would get Naruto, but before that, he must prove himself trustworthy to the Sandaime Hokage.


End file.
